Perfect
by GayerThanOriginallyIntended
Summary: Fred being Fred whilst Hermione struggles to remain Hermione. If you find that completely indecipherable, read the story and figure it out.


AN: Greetings Muggles. If you haven't been over to our profile, this is our Challenge account. This week I was given Fremione in a rare moment of kindness from my dear best friend. So enjoy and tell us what you think. If you have a challenge to add on to our load just drop us a comment. Thanks!  
-Jess

Disclaimer: Consider it disclaimed

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He did not have a crush on Hermione Granger. Fred Weasley, you see, did not get _crushes_. No, no. He did not do things halfway and his feeling towards Mrs. Savior-of-the-Free-World were no different; he loved her.

It had not started out that way, obviously, but it had progressed rapidly. He had discovered his physical attraction to her at the most inconvenient time: the Yule Ball. Harry and Ron had just taken their dates to the floor and left her sitting by herself when he caught her shy smile from across the room. Lovely. And she truly was. Her dress was beautiful, of course, but her smile was so much more radiant. How had he not noticed before? Gone were the days of bushy-haired, buck-toothed little Hermione Granger. The strength of his newly-found attraction startled him. He was just about to ask her to dance when Viktor Krum barged in beside her.

"I vould like to dance now." He stated. Hmph. Some invitation.

But Hermione gave a polite smile and took his hand. So he moved on and grabbed Katie for a dance-not so that he could watch her on the dance floor, though, because that would be weird. They danced together clumsily. Viktor was much larger than Hermione and neither could be considered particularly graceful. She seemed to enjoy herself, though; when they parted ickle Viktor went to fetch drinks and Hermione found her way over to the table where Harry and Ron were sulking.

Words were exchanged, which Fred did not hear, and Hermione started screaming. Really going off on Ron, that is, and then she flew away in a pretty little pink blur.

He was not watching Hermione Granger that night. No, no. Fred Weasley was dancing with Angelina-albeit at arm's length to avoid any confusion, but they were dancing just the same. Fred Weasley just so happened to feel the sudden urge to leave at the same time she did. And he would have left well enough alone had she not been bawling her bloody eyes out.

He sat down beside her noiselessly. She looked up at him and looked back down, not willing to acknowledge his presence just yet. The crying did slow, though. Nothing like embarrassment to hush a girl up.

"Hermione, what's the matter?"

It was a dumb question. Well, not a dumb _question_ so much, but it was dumb to ask it anyways. Of course she would not tell him. And why should she? They were not especially close nor was he especially trustworthy. He would not go about telling her feelings to all of the castle of anything like that, but he also could not be considered especially _helpful_. Now if she had needed help brewing up a Pepper-Up potion or exacting revenge on his thick-headed younger brother, Fred was the one to call, but comforting was not his forte.

She shook her head, still sheathed in her hands and so they sat together in silence again. By the time her muted sniffles had faded away entirely, Fred was high-tired of sitting in the quiet hall without saying a thing to her.

"Let's go," he said happily, pulling her to her feet with him.

She did not look nearly as happy as he did, "I am _really_ not in the mood, Fred."

Of course not. That was why they had to get out and fast. He could cheer her up but not so long as she sat around sulking.

"I'm sure you're not, but come with me anyway," He offered her his hand. It was her choice, really. The million dollar question: to go or not to go. In the end, to Fred's extreme pleasure, she took his hand if rather reluctantly.

Her reluctance was well deserved. After five minutes of Fred running them through the empty halls of a silent school, whooping and hollering all the way, they finally made it out the doors and down the steep hill leading to the quidditch pitch.

Hermione frowned at his huge grin.

"Why?" She asked in a bored voice. She tolerated quidditch fairly well, making sure to attend the games and support her friends, but right now she did not want to be anywhere that made her think of _him_.

Fred shrugged, "I wan't to fly."

Hermione rolled her eyes, "Then why am I here?"

His smile widened shamelessly, "Because I wanted to fly with you."

He made no sense to her. Her presence was neither required nor pleasant on a broom. Flying was a hobby to be done alone or with a team, not with some bird you felt sorry for. Plus, there was no way she was going anywhere near a broom that he happened to be flying. It wasn't likely that she would even get in the air with he or George even in the general vicinity.

"Uh, thanks for the effort, Fred, but I prefer to stay on the ground."

He smirked, "Scared, Granger?"

She scowled, "No, Weasley, I am not. I just have better things to do with my night than ride a broomstick around an empty field."

Oh, he thought, how unfortunate that she believes I was merely making a suggestion.

What happened after that could be easily misconstrued: He did not force Hermione up in the air that night. That would have been rude, and Molly Weasley did not raise a rude child (besides, maybe, Ron, but there's always one bad seed). It might have appeared forced, but she truly wanted to fly with him. He was just helping her to get over herself. And he would have left her alone had she been serious in her demands to be released. Or if he hadn't felt a surge of electricity go through him when she wrapped her arms around his waist. She might have done so for the sole purpose of staying in the air, but Fred knew that she felt it to. And when she finally stopped her wailing and burying her face in Fred's shoulder, even if she swore it was just to keep from looking down, he knew that there was something more to be found between the two of them.

"Why don't you unburrow, little mouse? The view is gorgeous this time of night." He urged lightly.

She peaked over his shoulder and her breath caught in her throat. The view really was gorgeous-more than gorgeous, even. Magical. The stars looked so close she thought maybe if she reached just a bit further she might touch one. The castle's lights were down, and flickering candles lit most of the windows. The Forbidden Forest, normally so dark and foreboding, lost its strength in the light of the moon. Owls and wolves called to their kinsmen far in the distance, but no sound louder than the steady breathing of the boy in front of her made it to her ears. Perfect.

He grinned back at her and his eyes sparkled with happiness, only adding to the beauty around them.

"Perfect," He said.


End file.
